


Status Quo

by gin_tonic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_inspired, M/M, Rimming, Spin the Bottle, challenge: back to school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-25
Updated: 2011-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_tonic/pseuds/gin_tonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>8th year has started and going back to school is harder than anyone thought. A proper outlet is needed – and found in games that hold more significance than anyone expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Status Quo

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the absolutely lovely Drachenmina, Cyane_Snape, and Gavilan!
> 
> This is a re-post of the hd_inspired back to school challenge from 2009!

Status Quo

Harry was the first to claim a bed because he was the only one not attending the Welcoming Feast. Nearly four months had passed since the battle here at Hogwarts and he still couldn't bear the thought of returning to where he had seen the bodies of so many dead friends laid out after the battle. At least he couldn't do it with the whole school waiting for his reaction. Coming back to Hogwarts was hard enough as it was.

He chose the bed that was the farthest away from the door and closest to the window. He was done with dark and narrow places and the thought of it made his insides turn in the most uncomfortable manner possible. Someone else could take the bed near the inner wall. There were plenty of others who couldn't stand the chilly Scottish night air.

Not all of their former classmates did return, though. Some – Harry wasn't sure whether he should call them fortunate or not – had managed to graduate under the Carrows' rule, some had gone abroad to complete their education with little intention to return. All in all there were only thirteen left of them – Lavender, Dean, Seamus (who had chosen to repeat the year to finish school with his best friend), Neville, Ron, Hermione, Hannah, Justin, Terry, Draco, Blaise, Pansy and Harry.

Instead of re-sorting them the school had prepared a single 'eighth-year House' in one of the south towers of the castle, windows facing the lake. There was a common room, including a study area that would even make the Ravenclaws and Hermione happy, and dorms with adjoining bathrooms. As there were two dorm rooms for the boys, Harry suspected that his room-mates would be the same as they had always been. It would be like before again.

When Ron and the others came to claim their beds, Harry had already unpacked and roughly checked out the eighth-years' realm. Ron was the first to throw his things down on a cover – he took the bed right next to Harry's, of course – and Neville followed only seconds after. They heard Terry give a delighted whoop in the other room at being able to claim the bed closest to the window and were just about to start a probably very awkward conversation when the unthinkable happened: Justin Finch-Fletchley claimed the bed nearest to the wall – in their room. As they were determined to sleep in the same room, Dean and Seamus immediately took the four-posters in the other room, leaving the choice of the last bed in Harry's room to go to either Malfoy or Zabini. Harry frowned at the thought and realised that this year was going to be different after all.

They had returned to the common room soon after and had lounged around with the others. Ron had suggested a game of chess, but only Justin had been brave – or stupid – enough to take him up on the offer. Hermione had studiously ignored Lavender, had chatted with Hannah for a bit before starting to read a book – she needed to get a start on this year's subject matter, after all. Pansy had just sat there, pretending to be interested in the magazine she was holding up in front of her like a shield. Neither Malfoy nor Zabini had shown up by then. Harry remembered how Pansy had, only months ago, screamed for someone to grab him with the purpose of handing him over to Voldemort, but no matter how much Ron ranted about 'that piece of Slytherin scum', Harry couldn't bring himself to hate her. Because even in the chaos back then he had recognised the wild look of panic that she had had in her eyes. She had been scared to death and he couldn't hold that against her. Although it didn't make him like her more than he had before the war.

Harry glanced at the clock that hung on the wall between the doors that led to the dormitories and sighed. There was only half an hour left until curfew and the halls would be deserted. It was now or never for him.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, getting up. His friends, immersed in their own business, barely nodded at him before he left.

He had been right – the corridors were empty. Not even Filch was to be seen, but Seamus had told Harry that Filch had lost some of his fierceness anyway. Rumours had it that he, while still hoping for the days he would be allowed to hang students up by their thumbs and dish out harsh punishments for breaking school-corridor rules, had started to enjoy quiet evening hours with Mrs. Norris and Madam Pince and would only do rounds every so often. Then again the school hadn't even seen a proper school-day since the war had ended...

Harry's walk was determined but slow as his mind feverishly tried to think up things he had to do before visiting the Great Hall. He should grab something to eat, Harry decided. The kitchens would still be bustling – he swallowed heavily at the thought – and someone there would save him from starving. Maybe he would even be able to pay Winky a short visit.

That decided, he turned left at the next corner – and nearly collided with the entwined Malfoy and Zabini, who were trying to suck each other's souls out. Or their tonsils. And were looking disturbingly ... hot while doing it. Harry blinked. So Malfoy was gay. That actually came as a bit of a surprise.

Even though he suspected they might find it offensive, Harry couldn't help but compare the two of them to dark chocolate and white, the perfect amalgamation of bitter and sweet. There was a weird flutter in his stomach and he became aware that he was still staring. Quickly he hurried down to the kitchens.

Soon, he was so full of delicious house-elf food that he was sure he'd burst any moment now and he went down to the Great Hall. Winky had made him eat twice as much as he had planned and he would have to be careful with coming down to the kitchens, because if he did it too often his skinny arse would soon not be so skinny after all. Especially since he couldn't play Quidditch this year – the Board had had considered it unfair towards all the other players to include the, apparently too mature, eighth years.

All reasons he had to procrastinate were used up, because there was no way he'd go to breakfast unprepared. And he'd have to eat.

The doors didn't creak when he pushed them, didn't even give a sound of complaint as if nothing had happened at all. As if they hadn't been broken, splintered, burned. The Great Hall was lying still in the half-darkness that the minimal illumination of a few candles offered. Everything looked like it had during his first six years of school. The tables were standing right where they always had, benches accompanying them silently. The High Table was there with the teachers' chairs, each one as unique as the individuals who sat on them were. And above, the Hogwarts crest was watching over all of it: the sharp eyes of badger, snake, raven and lion never sleeping, never resting.

Hesitantly Harry took a few steps into the room, feeling immediately assaulted by the memories of that night. The tables faded away, taking the benches with them, and the light evening sky that was decorating the ceiling of the Great Hall changed into a thunderstorm, magic crackling everywhere, the whole thing threatening to collapse. Suddenly there were screams filling the air, people crying out in pain, begging for help or cursing their enemies with all their might. Spells were zipping around, singeing the air, leaving marks on the stone walls that should've been everlasting. The floor was a bloody mire, puddles of red everywhere making people slip. He could see people lying on the floor – most of them already dead – and there was Remus, staring with glassy, dead eyes at nothing at all. Tonks was right next to him, her face frozen in an expression of anguish and not far away there was Fred...

His own sob that broke out of his throat jerked Harry out of his thoughts. He shook his head and rubbed his hands over his eyes. They were wet when they came away.

******

When he came back – eyes still slightly red, but no other trace betraying his anguished state from not long ago – his friends were still in the common room. He went to his dorm right away, just wanting to go to sleep and forget – at least about this day. He opened the door with a tired sigh that was a giveaway of his feelings more than even his war-schooled face could be. He looked up only to check whether he was going to stumble over one of the guys' bags any moment and suddenly found himself face to face with none other than Malfoy. The door latched behind him and their mouths opened. Scenes of Malfoy and Zabini flashed in front of Harry's eyes. Their mouths closed soundlessly, insults dying before they had been thought of.

Confused, Harry went over to his bed and grabbed his pyjamas with the firm intention of falling asleep immediately – ending the day was the only sensible thing to do, the hope for a better tomorrow slumbering with him.

******

The first week passed in a flurry. From the moment they got their schedules that first morning until the last lesson on Friday they had been busy – there had been stuff to organise, people to greet and to dodge, and homework to get used to once again. Since their numbers were so few, the eighth years shared most of their classes with the seventh years; only Defence Against the Dark Arts and Divination were held separately.

"I'm exhausted," Hermione sighed and let herself fall into an armchair that was unfortunately already occupied by Ron, who gasped for breath. Hermione wasn't even a little perturbed, but in fact smiled smugly.

"You're exhausted? I thought you'd like weeks like this," Harry mumbled from his position upside-down on another armchair, his head hanging just off of the seat-cushion, making his hair hang freely. He hadn't bothered to cut it after the war and it hadn't bothered to get back to its former length on its own either.

"Please. I like studying, not running around and trying to find out whether I'm in the right class, whether I am already too much advanced to actually take the course and to chase after all the regulations the school-board has introduced for us." Hermione blew a rebellious strand of hair out of her face and wriggled a bit in Ron's lap as a cue for him to start massaging her shoulders. It didn't work – Ron's face only turned into an interesting shade of red.

The door to the common room opened and the former Slytherins entered. Harry's gaze immediately searched for Malfoy's and Zabini's clasped hands (the sight of that had caused some talking in school), but today they were separated.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron tensing and Hermione trying not to be bothered by them. Zabini's and Malfoy's reactions to them were much the same and they warily slowed down their pace. Harry nodded at Malfoy as neutrally as he could manage and got a mirroring response. Ever since their first meeting they had been ... well, nothing actually. They nodded each other hello, good morning and sometimes even good night, but that was all the interaction they had. Harry found himself ogling Malfoy more often than he should've – no matter that Malfoy already had a boyfriend and would never consider Harry. Not that he would consider Malfoy, anyway. Malfoy was a guy and Harry still hadn't determined whether he really didn't like girls. Because he had had girlfriends already. No sex, but if the war hadn't got in the way...

Malfoy-and-Zabini (as in "the item") sat down on a sofa at, what Ron would call, a satisfactory distance, but still in earshot.

"We should do something," Neville's voice suddenly came out of the blue.

Harry raised his head, trying in vain to spot his friend, but was too tired to keep up holding his position for long. "About what?"

"Not about anything," Neville corrected. "I meant, we should do something together."

Hermione perked up. "That sounds like a good idea. Something that's relaxing and could take our minds off of school-work." She ignored the surprised looks. "Something like a group activity."

Ten pairs of eyes were glued to the ex-Slytherins for a couple of seconds, until Harry cleared his throat. "Like?"

******

It was only when McGonagall's repeated and pointed coughing shook Harry out of his thoughts that he realised that he had spent nearly the whole lesson staring at Malfoy's back. And at his fine, shimmering hair. What was wrong with him? He had thought he had passed the phase of obsessing over Malfoy in sixth year already. This time he didn't even have a valid reason, like suspected treason.

Harry ruefully tried to pay attention to the lesson, but McGonagall's words just flew by without even penetrating his thick skull. What was this nagging feeling in his stomach? Was he getting sick? Maybe he shouldn't have come back. Maybe staying away from Hogwarts would have been better.

******

Harry left the common room with a sigh. He never would have thought he would be bored stiff at Hogwarts (only figuratively speaking), but there he was. Ron and Hermione were busy and the rest were either studying, playing games or already asleep. Hermione had suggested that he should take up a book and study in advance. As if that was likely to happen. There were definitely downsides to life in such a small year-group.

He set out for the grounds, hoping that a tour outside might make him tired enough to fall asleep or at least make the boredom go away. And indeed, he only had to walk through two corridors before something happened.

There were voices – hushed and then again loud, angry and excited – coming from around the corner, and Harry found himself inching closer in order to be able to hear what they were saying. Boredom and propriety were forgotten and rotting in a dark corner of Harry's mind.

"How can you say that? Just like this?" That was Malfoy, who was obviously trying to speak quietly, but was so excited that his voice went up every couple of seconds. And this could only mean that he was talking to -

Zabini. "I only said -"

"I know what you said. You don't need to repeat it – I'm not deaf."

"But I will be if you don't stop your screeching."

"I don't screech, Blaise."

"Fine."

"I just don't get how you can be so casual about this."

"What? He is attractive."

"That's not even what I'm talking about. Not even close. I don't want to discuss whether he is hot or not – he could be the hottest guy on the planet for all I care, but what bothers me is that you feel the need to tell me that you think he's hot."

"Well -"

"Don't you _well_ me. Fuck you, Blaise."

Harry heard the leather soles of Malfoy's shoes tap on the ground, coming in his direction and he quickly dashed into a niche, pressing himself to the wall and hoping to God that Malfoy wouldn't spot him and notice that he had eavesdropped upon the conversation. But Malfoy just rushed past, paying no mind to anything.

******

Harry threw his bag onto the couch and fell down right next to it, a sigh of the size of Ben Nevis breaking out of his lungs. Whoever had said that their eighth year would be a piece of cake was a flipping liar. Somehow the teacher had got it into their heads that their pupils' age justified their high expectations that even went over the N.E.W.T. standards that they were studying for. McGonagall, for example, had just given every eighth year extra homework on top of the stuff that the seventh years had to do. How was he supposed to do the research project for fucking Potions, the essay for Charms and master the new, complicated ground-matter transformation all at once? He was no Hermione!

Okay, maybe the extra assignment had been his fault. Just for a moment – a tiny, really, really minimal moment – he had let himself be distracted by how the light got reflected by Malfoy's shiny hair and had turned McGonagall's favourite transformation books into a pile of ashes. The others hadn't been too happy about their additional task – including Malfoy, who had given him the Look Of DoomTM.

Harry rubbed his hands over his eyes as if that would make him any more awake.

******

The way his hormones had been behaving, Harry had decided it would be a better idea to sneak off to the Prefect's Bathroom than to use the common showers. He just couldn't risk running into a half-naked Draco Malfoy – he didn't even dare to imagine what his treacherous cock would do in a situation like that.

Stepping out of the swimming pool, Harry caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye. It was a full-length mirror – one that wasn't enchanted so it wouldn't make any improper comments on the boys' bodies – and despite the shower-fog that was filling the room, it was clear.

Harry stared at his mirror image. No matter what the house-elves had tried so far he hadn't fattened up much. His stomach had filled out some and didn't look like he'd lived off roots and berries for the greater part of the past year, but he could still count his ribs without any difficulty. There was sparse hair on his chest, barely worth mentioning, and some that led down to his groin, looking at least somewhat passable. His arms were sinewy, lacking the bundles of muscles that Ron had, and his legs only managed to bring out his knobbly knees.

"Harry James Potter, you're not exactly a piece of art," he mumbled to himself and ran a hand through his dripping hair. At least the red of the lightning bolt had faded slightly. Carefully Harry looked around, assuring himself that no-one was around to see what he was about to do. Once having secured the area, Harry opened the folds of his towel, baring himself to the mirror. His cock nestled in the thick, untameable curls he had down there, looking awfully average at best. Granted, he hadn't yet risked comparing it (he had never bothered to give it a name) to the penises of his room-mates – because there was risky behaviour and then there was downright suicidal behaviour – but seeing as everyone else was already taller than him, their dicks were probably longer, as well. It did look quite nice though. Straight, no curve, slightly lighter than his own skin-tone and uncut. Feeling that his cock definitely did like the attention, Harry quickly covered it up again before more could happen.

Still, he'd probably never manage to measure up to Zabini, the bloody bastard. It was just silly of him to even hope that Draco might be interested in him. He probably wasn't even his type. He should forget about the whole thing. Should push that shit out of his mind at least until he left school – because there was no way in hell he'd date any of the other guys. None of them was gay, anyway. Besides Malfoy and Zabini, that was. And Dean and Seamus, whom Harry suspected had something going on. But his over-sexualised mind could be making him imagine things again. He'd have to ask Hermione.

******

It was Dean who came up with the idea of playing Spin the Bottle. Harry didn't know why Dean had thought it a good idea to suggest the game in this group, but suddenly the suggestion was out in the open, hanging like the sword of Damocles over Harry's head. Because even though he had never played the game himself (Dudley had never invited him to his birthday parties with his friends – not that Harry had wanted to go – nor had Harry been invited to any other Muggle birthday party), he knew what it involved.

But everyone else – even Hermione – immediately jumped on the idea. "Which version are we talking about?" she asked all business like, while she was already taking notes on a pad of paper that had appeared in her hands.

"The simple one. Where you give a task to the person the bottle points to," Dean answered. He had stretched out on a couch and his feet were resting on Seamus's lap, who seemed to by quite content with the situation. Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"So not just kissing." Hermione nodded, adding another line to her notes. Harry couldn't believe how casual she was about all of this. His eyes swerved over to Ron, who was sitting there as if his girlfriend – the bloody girl he had lusted for years now, whom he should cherish and protect and over whom he should watch jealously – hadn't just declared that she would be kissing other people in a game, like it didn't mean anything.

Harry shook himself. This wasn't right. It really shouldn't be like that. He got up slowly, trying not to attract too much attention – and failed.

"Where are you going?" Hermione's keen eyes had fixed him, pinned him to the door frame that he had been about to cross.

"To... to the dorm?" Harry couldn't help but run a hand through his hair, which only caused Hermione to narrow her eyes. And yet she said noting.

Harry was about to turn around again and flee from this madness, when suddenly Malfoy asked: "You are going to play as well, aren't you?"

Harry closed his eyes. How could he say no? Malfoy and his lips had been features of his dreams so often lately that even the thought of stealing a kiss alone nearly was reason enough to participate. And now Malfoy had asked him to. Harry knew that there was no chance in hell that he would ever get something from Malfoy that was close to what he wanted, but he couldn't say no. He nodded with a sigh.

******

They were sitting in a circle, looking nervously at each other. Harry could feel his own heart beating wildly in his chest. How could a simple game make him this nervous? He was a bloody hero. He'd defeated Voldemort. He'd come back from the dead. The prospect of playing Spin the Bottle should therefore not be so frightening. His eyes went down to the bottle, then up again to his classmates' faces. For a moment he stopped at Malfoy's, before moving on as if nothing had happened, and he gulped.

"Who's going first?" Neville asked, nibbling on his lip. There, Harry told himself, yet another war-hero who is nervous as hell. The thought wasn't as comforting as it should have been.

"Always the one who asks first," Malfoy said. "And that's you, Longbottom."

Neville pulled a face, but still inched his hand towards the bottle. "What am I going to say? I mean, what -"

"Just say something like, 'Whoever the bottle points to has to . . .' and then you add a task," Dean said. He was sitting next to Seamus – due to the lack of girls in their year the traditional boy-girl-boy-girl sitting order had been impossible – and looked utterly satisfied.

"Oh. All right then. Whoever the bottle points to has to roar like a lion." Neville put on a brave face, even though Malfoy complained that this task was extremely lame – which got even worse when the bottle stopped, pointing at him. His roar also resembled more that of a kitty with a sore throat.

"Who the bottle points on has to do a handstand," Malfoy said and turned the bottle.

"And that's supposed to be move exciting than Longbottom's task?" Blaise snorted, receiving a death-glare from Malfoy. Harry, who also didn't find the task that exciting, agreed with the death-glare. Zabini didn't deserve any different, after all.

They went on like this for a while, going through enough tasks of the sort that forced people to sing, dance or try and do some acrobatics that Harry started to feel at ease. He should have known that it wouldn't stay like this, of course.

"This is boring," Zabini commented to Harry's dislike, yawning demonstratively.

"I happen to like it," Hermione said in her stern-voice that didn't allow any objection. "This was, after all, designed to do something together – if you don't want to play, then you can just leave the circle."

Zabini ducked his head slightly – Hermione sometimes had that effect on men – and suggested: "Let's at least put some more risk into this. Make the tasks more interesting and such."

Hermione looked into the round – completely ignoring how frantically Harry was shaking his head no – and gave Zabini the OK. Unfortunately no-one put on a 'more interesting' dare. Then it was Zabini's turn – after he had done his fair share of turning his own hair blue.

"Whoever the bottle points to has to moon us!" For some moments there was complete silence and imaginary crickets chirped. Then Seamus applauded the dare and the rest nodded with appreciation. Zabini turned the bottle and thirteen pairs of eyes watched it spin.

Harry would never get the image of Ron's buttocks out of his head.

******

"Fuck you, Blaise! I told you no!"

"You aren't even considering it?"

"Of course not!"

Zabini said something under his breath that Harry couldn't understand from his position, no matter how much he strained his ears.

"What did you say?" Draco's voice was angry and sharp. Unforgiving.

"That you are a spoilt bastard! You have never been good at sharing."

Harry could see Draco advancing on Zabini – and he was glad that he wasn't the one that Draco was angry with.

"This is not about sharing, Blaise! This is completely different! What you want is fucking around with other people."

"I would do it with you, but you don't -"

"Too right I don't! And for you to take that as an excuse -"

"It is not an excuse!"

"What is it supposed to be then? You just told me you wanted to sleep with other people!"

"It is called an open relationship!"

"Oh yeah? Well, go and fuck your 'open relationship' because you surely aren't going to fuck me ever again!"

Harry saw Draco setting off into the opposite direction, heading straight to the Great Doors that led out onto the grounds.

"Did you just break up with me?" Blaise yelled after him.

"Fuck you!" was the only answer he got. Harry blinked slowly and then retreated quickly

******

When Draco still hadn't returned at midnight Harry began to worry. He knew it wasn't his business and that Draco and Zabini had probably made up again – were most likely shagging each other against a wall – but with the war and its memories still fresh in his blood, he just couldn't go to sleep without making sure that everything was okay.

Carefully being quiet, Harry slid out of bed, keeping Ron's bed in the corner of his eye to make sure that his very curious and hard-headed friend was still asleep, and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak. The night was fresh but not cold and Harry didn't have a problem wandering around in his pyjama-bottoms and a t-shirt.

The stone floor cold under his feet, Harry made his way out of the eighth years' common room, hesitated for a minute and then turned to the right. This had been the direction Draco's little dot had been on the Marauder's Map, after all. Once again Harry thanked his father for creating the map – without it, it would surely have been impossible to find Draco. He could have been anywhere – from Hogsmeade, to the forest, the Quidditch pitch and the castle itself were so many different hide-outs and niches that it would probably take days to find an unmoving person if one didn't use magic.

Harry checked the map again. Draco had moved to another corridor, one that led down to the dungeons – and with that to the Slytherin common room. At least Draco was still moving, Harry told himself. Moving people were usually still alive – at this point he strongly refused to think of Inferi.

Two to the right, three flights down, then two left and a sharp turn to the right again and Harry found himself close enough to hear Draco. Which wasn't that hard, given the fact that Draco was singing.

"Ten 'een bo'les, han'in onna wall,

Ten 'een bo'les, han'in onna wall,

An' if one 'een bo'le should acci'lalay fall

There'd be nine 'een bo'les, han'in onna wall!"

Bloody hell, Draco was drunk! Harry's eyes were wide open as he ran around the corner, only to stumble over Draco, who was sitting on the floor, his lips pulled into a drunken grin.

"Hey there, Potter!" Draco cheerily greeted him and looked at a place two feet next to Harry, waving with a sloppy hand.

"Malfoy..."

"Yes! Yes, that's me! That is my name!"

"What are you doing down here?"

"Going to sleep!"

"This isn't where your dormitory is."

"It is not? But I saw graff- griff- no, that's not it. Graffertitity-snakes on the walls. Not far to Slyther..."

"But that's not where you are sleeping."

"It's not?"

Harry shook his head and went down onto his knees. "Come on, I'll take you home."

"Take me? Absolutely not!"

"Take you home."

"Oh. All right then." Draco let Harry pick him up and slowly and more or less (but rather less) surely they made their way back to their common area. Their pace was slow, because Harry, who was supporting Draco with his arm under Draco's and around his shoulders, practically had to carry him, but they went in peace and silence. At least for ten minutes – then Draco discovered that he could still speak and started to do just that: "Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Potter, listen to this:

There was a young man from Nantucket

Whose cock was so long he could suck it

And he said with a grin

As he wiped off his chin--

'f my ear was a cunt I could fuck it.'"

Harry could barely refrain from hitting his own head against the nearest wall. Not only was Draco quite heavy when drunk and told awfully lewd limericks, but hearing words like this from Draco's mouth also got him hot and twitchy. Only two more stairs and then just a long, long walk to the door of the common room. He would put Draco to bed – and probably hit him with a Silencing spell before that so he wouldn't wake up everyone else – and then return to his own. All thoughts of him joining Draco in his bed were totally inappropriate. Besides, they gave him a nervous feeling in the tummy that he didn't want to think about further.

"Potter? What about this one?

Here's to old king Montezuma

For fun he buggered a puma

The puma one day

Bit both balls away

An example of animal humour."

"Very good, Draco. Really. Honestly."

"You're lying." Draco's pout was positively audible. "Why is everyone lying to me?"

"I -"

"Everyone! They tell you you're elite, but you're really not. You're just a member of a bunch of fascists who follow the biggest piece of scum in history! And then they tell you that they want to be with you and only fuck with you, only to make you see them with someone else! And then they say you're at fault! Lies, lies, LIES!" Draco's rant was finished with a sob that made Harry tighten his arm around Draco.

Zabini deserved to be kicked in the balls.

"It'll be okay. We're nearly at the common room. Just a few more steps and we'll be in our room. Your bed is there and you can sleep." Harry gritted his teeth, while Draco's head slowly sank onto Harry's shoulder.

******

Eventually they had made it to the dorm and – with the help of Silencing Charms and a lot of muscle work – Harry had managed to tug Draco into bed. For a moment Harry had hesitated at Draco's bed – long enough for Draco's grabby hands to jerk him closer and for him to press a kiss to his lips. It had left Harry gasping and empty even though there hadn't been any tongue involved, while Draco had been asleep before his head had been on the pillow again.

And now morning had come and Harry had successfully dragged himself out of bed and under the shower, trying to wash away the memory of yesterday's kiss. It hadn't worked.

When Harry came back to the dorm, holding the towel around his lower body tight, Ron had already left for breakfast. Draco was still lying in his bed and Harry went over to check up on him. He couldn't let Draco die, after all. Not after he'd rescued him. And he certainly was in danger of being smothered by the pillows he was lying on.

Careful to be quiet so as not to disturb Draco, Harry bent over him.

"Stop dropping water on my neck, Potter," suddenly came from the pillows and Harry let out a shriek, just barely managing to keep hold of the towel.

"You're awake!"

"Thanks to you. Now go away and let me sleep."

"We have class."

"I am aware of that. You are also very loud."

Harry ducked his head and walked over to his bed, turning his back to Draco and Summoning his boxers at the same time. He put the towel onto the bed, turning his upper body with the movement, which allowed him to glimpse back at Draco. Who was staring straight at him. And his back. And his buttocks.

Harry squeaked and quickly put on his trousers.

******

Harry didn't know what exactly had changed, but something had. Apart from the fact that Draco wasn't talking to Zabini anymore, he now definitely paid more attention to Harry. When Harry entered a room, Draco looked up and nodded at him – Harry had even got a smile that had made his knees weak. What was going on?

******

Seamus took out two bottles – one with alcohol, the other empty – and placed them in the middle of the circle.

"I thought we could spice up the game a bit," he said, grinning like a loon.

Pansy licked her lips and grinned back. "Finnigan, I never knew you had it in you."

"Well, I have." Seamus sounded oddly proud of himself.

"How did you manage to smuggle in the booze? I thought there were wards to screen the luggage," Terry asked, sounded honestly curious. He probably wanted detailed routes and tips how to get the alcohol in – even if he would never dare to do it himself. He could always tell people that he knew how to smuggle stuff in and then bask in their adoration, the little shit.

"Trade secret," Seamus announced and reached out again to let the bottle perform the first spin.

"Hold it," Zabini drawled out of the blue, sitting down between Pansy and Justin, much to the former's disgust. "Why don't we play something different for a change?"

"Like?" Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"I've never."

"What did you never?" Harry frowned. He really didn't need cryptic answers to add to his irritation.

"That's the name of the game, brainiac." Zabini rolled his eyes. "Each one of us has a shot of alcohol in front of them. One person starts with saying, 'I've never,' and then adds a statement about something they may or may not have done. Those who did it have to empty their shots and fill up the glasses again – and if no-one did what you just said, you have to drink your own shot." A big groan of growing understanding went through the circle and people began to nod. "And the best thing is that a simple spell will ensure that everyone of us is saying the truth." Draco scoffed at the word, but was ignored

"Sounds like a good idea," Justin said, a perverted gleam in his eyes that Harry had never seen before.

"Yeah, let's do it." Lavender, of course. Probably because Blaise was single now – rumours had it that he wasn't fixed on any gender and Lavender could smell willing men from two miles distance.

But as soon as those two agreed, the rest followed and the game began, no matter how much Harry thought that this was a very bad idea.

******

"I'll give you an example: I've never kissed a woman," Blaise started the first game and bravely grabbed his own shot, downing it with obvious delight. Tentatively Dean, Draco, Seamus, Terry, Ron, Neville, Harry and Hannah – who got a round of raised eyebrows – lifted their glasses as well and drank. The alcohol burned down Harry's throat and made him cough like he had just tried to swallow a frog. He could feel the other's looks and how he, in response, started blushing from head to toe. So much for looking cool.

When his coughs slowly subsided he heard Hermione say: "Well, the rules are quite simple. But try to keep it not too perverted."

Of course they didn't. The rounds came fast and without any real breaks to take a breather between drinks.

"I've never gone streaking." Pansy, Lavender, Ron, Seamus, Draco and Blaise drank.

"I've never showed my equipment to a complete stranger."

"I've never done it outside."

"I've never kissed someone with a piercing."

At the end of the first round, sitting up straight was already a quite hard task for Harry. The game was crap, but he couldn't very well back out without looking like a complete loser, could he? So Harry stayed in the circle, hoping everyone else would get sick of this soon so he could hide in his bed.

Finally it was Draco's turn. Glaring at Zabini with a look that promised at least one hundred and thirteen ways to die, he said: "I've never cheated on my partner." Holding Draco's look, Zabini lowered his hand to his glass ever so slowly, then raised it to him with a smirk.

"Tosser," Harry heard Draco mumble under his breath and he could only agree. He'd never do that to Draco. He couldn't imagine how anyone could be so stupid to give someone like that up.

"I've never had sex in a classroom (already had this one)." Draco tossed his drink back. A small drop of alcohol stayed on his lips, glistening in the light of the candles that lit up the common room. Transfixed, Harry couldn't help but stare, wanting – no, needing – to lick it off, to touch those lips.

Justin cleared his throat and Harry blinked, coming back to the game. "I never was so drunk that I blacked out." Harry drank.

"I've never been caught while wanking." At least half of the group drank, including Draco, who shrugged with a grimace and wouldn't say more on that topic. They stayed in the area of that question, asking for wanking in the Quidditch-showers. Harry had to drink, much to the amusement of everybody else.

"I always knew you loved Quidditch, Harry, but that much?" Seamus laughed and rammed his elbow in Harry's ribs.

"I've never given a blow job," Terry proposed, making more people drink than Harry had wanted to see drinking. His own glass was left untouched. He felt someone looking at him and looked up, meeting Draco's eyes that were glinting with amusement and ... was that interest? Harry shook his head. The alcohol was already making him imagine things.

"How about this," Draco cleared his throat, smirking at the others, " - pay attention, you lot, this is going to be interesting – I've never had sex." Draco emptied his glass and to Harry's horror so did Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Blaise, Ron, Hermione, Hannah, Pansy, Neville, Terry and even Justin. Everyone but him. He could hear Pansy snickering and stared, like a deer caught in headlights, at his full glass.

"Well, he's been busy," he heard Ron say and hated his friend for a moment, because he'd thought it necessary to defend him. But yes, he had been busy. So what if he hadn't had sex yet. He was young. There was loads of time. Maybe if he had found the right person ... it wasn't any good without the right person. And a relationship. Yes, that was what was needed. A relationship, not a quick fuck between lessons. Not a fling. Something serious, something where he knew that he could trust the other person. And that hadn't exactly come up yet.

"This game is stupid," he heard himself say. Of course he had to go and make it worse.

"Well, the bottle is nearly empty anyway. Let's empty the glasses and go back to Spin the Bottle," Seamus suggested cheerfully. Harry looked up. There were things he'd rather do than playing another game, like hiding under his blanket or puking his guts out, but he shrugged his okay anyway.

******

He should have known that he wouldn't be any luckier in this game than in the other. Even though his prick definitely was saying something else about that matter, already begging to get some action. The bottle hadn't even pointed to him – it had been pointing at Draco and in fact Harry should've counted himself lucky that it had, because the task had been to kiss the person who was sitting opposite them in the circle. And that was Harry.

And now Draco's lips were only a mere breath away from his and time had stopped. Or maybe his brain had just stopped processing the world around him. He could see Draco's lips, smell the faint scent of alcohol in his breath, and his heart was about to burst out of his chest.

And suddenly the world was turning again and Draco pressed his lips to Harry's, the softness and also the strength of it making Harry gasp, allowing Draco's tongue to gently push inside. This was heaven, this was bliss, this was -

\- over. Draco licked his lips, drawing back, and Harry could only blink. Bloody hell, he was well and truly fucked.

******

Harry nearly ran into the door when he tried to get into his dorm. There was only half an hour left of breakfast and he had forgotten his books and had had to run up three flights of stairs only to get them. Narrowly avoiding smashing his head, he skittered into the room.

"Why in such a hurry?"

Harry jumped at the voice and turned his head to look at Draco, who was leaning casually against his bedpost.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," Harry mumbled, still embarrassed by the weekend's events. Waking up in the same room as the witnesses of this little catastrophe had been bad enough, even without the teasing that followed. Draco hadn't really participated in that the day before and Harry had hoped he'd lay off it completely, but apparently his hopes had been in vain.

"I wasn't. I was already in the room."

"Yeah, whatever." He needed to go before Draco got going.

"Look," Draco said, just as Harry was bending down to fetch the books that were half-covered by some dirty trousers of his. "I was wondering if you might be interested in meeting up sometime?"

"Meeting up?"

"Yeah." Draco left his position at the bed-post and came closer. "We could meet up. Maybe in the Room of Requirement? I'm sure I could get some wine or whiskey or whatever."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Why? I mean, why meet up?" Not that he was principally opposed to the idea of meeting -

"Why, to shag, of course."

Oh. Harry's eyes darkened. He should have known that Draco was taking the crap. "Oh, fuck off," he growled and stormed out of the room.

******

He couldn't take his eyes off of the quill. No matter how hard Harry tried to concentrate on the Potions text they were supposed to be studying, he just couldn't get his eyes to move. The feathery quill didn't even really move. In fact it just rested against Draco's mouth – oh God, that sinful mouth that he couldn't get out of his head, that dominated his dreams, that he wanted to kiss again – leaving enough room for the lips to close over the feathery end and pull slightly. Then it left them again and the quill started to move back and forth over the mouth.

Evil. This was pure evil, sent to him from Hell to torment him and drive him crazy. Draco probably didn't even realise what he was doing and what effect he had on Harry. He wriggled on the bench, trying to get into a more comfortable position, then crossed his legs in hope that it would help.

It didn't.

Think of McGonagall naked. Slughorn doing a striptease. Don't think of Draco. I said don't. Filch. Nearly Headless Nick. Trelawney and Hagrid, Harry told himself, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute. When he opened them again they met Draco's, which were glittering with satisfaction. Could it be..? No. Of course not. He was being ridiculous. Draco couldn't be serious. Sure, he had said that he would like to fuck Harry, but he had only said that to rile him up, right?

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but nothing helped. He wanted him. Wanted him so much. But he couldn't possibly say yes, not with the situation being as it was.

******

"What do you say, Potter?" Draco asked after class, sauntering over to Harry, who had been extremely slow with putting his stuff away, due to thankfully no longer evident reasons.

"To what?" Harry asked, stuffing the Potions book into his backpack and checking for stuff he might have forgotten on or under his desk.

"Our meeting."

"What meeting? There is no meeting." He swung the backpack over his shoulder and started to walk towards the door.

"Not yet. But I thought we could go to the Room of Requirement and -"

"And what?"

"Shag." Harry narrowed his eyes at the nonchalance with which Draco said this.

"I told you no."

"I know that those words came out of your mouth, but your eyes -"

"Cut the crap. I don't shag anyone unless we're in a relationship."

"We could have a relationship for tonight."

"Relationships last longer than just a night."

"I'm not interested in those."

"Then I'm not interested in your suggestion." Harry readjusted his backpack again and hurried away before Draco could say more – and maybe make him give in.

******

Was it really such an easy thing to do? Lose your virginity like you went and got a new haircut maybe? Not that Harry had had many of those that had been successful, but the principle was there. Everyone was treating the matter with such ease and more or less assuming that you had had sex – so that admitting that you hadn't became an embarrassment. You weren't normal if you didn't have sex. No matter that there had been a war or a distinct lack of desirable partners – sex was a must.

Harry sighed and rested his forehead onto the book that was lying in front of him. Maybe he should do it. Draco was offering and he liked Draco, after all. Maybe he should just get it over with. It wasn't as if Harry didn't want to have sex, after all. Yes, Draco would probably throw him away like used boxer-shorts and not think of him as any more than a one-night stand of most likely only average quality (having no experience and all that), but at least Harry wouldn't be a virgin anymore. He would be one of them, wouldn't have to be ashamed of his virgin-status anymore.

And yet... And yet there was this uncomfortable nagging in his stomach. He had always thought sex should be part of a relationship that lasted longer than just a night. He didn't need a marriage proposal before he had sex, but a couple of dates and the prospect of more would be nice. And even though he liked Draco and couldn't keep his eyes off him, he rather wanted the whole thing to be reciprocal.

"So this is it?" Harry mumbled. Thankfully the book didn't answer (and he checked twice, just to be sure), but that didn't matter – he had made up his mind. He couldn't do it. He'd rather stay a virgin for a while longer, if that meant that he would have the chance to find someone he really liked and have sex with them then. He just wished that this person could be Draco.

******

Two weeks had passed since Harry had told Draco that he wouldn't take him up on the offer, and the only truly exciting thing that had happened had been when Hermione, of all people, had made a mistake during Potions and had turned herself and Ron blue and yellow. Classes only seemed to get more demanding every day and even more mumbled wishes for the weekends to come could be heard. And it wasn't even December yet. Harry's knees became weak in fear of the upcoming months and there was only one thing that he knew that would help for sure. (When Harry had said this to Ron, Ron had asked if he was talking about wanking, because he really wanted to leave in that case, but Ron had been wrong. Not very wrong, since that was still an option, but it hadn't been what Harry had been talking about.)

Honeydukes. The smell that was slowly dancing through the streets alone was enough to get the endorphins working and actually going in and buying something that promised at least three glorious hours of a sugar-rush was enough to keep one going for at least a couple more days.

A happy grin on his face, Harry left the shop with a big, one pound sweets-bag in his hands. He had taken care of everything – there were chocolate ice-cups that would melt on your tongue and leave a cool feeling in your mouth and chocolate bars with nuts and raisins to take care of every chocolate craving that he might have. He had wine gums, treacle tarts, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and even some of the really sour stuff that would make him grimace as soon as it touched his tongue.

Harry hummed to himself, already made happy at the prospect of being able to eat some of his new treats later, and turned around the corner – only to narrowly avoid slamming into Draco, who was hurrying down the street. Harry staggered briefly, but managed to regain his balance, but Draco hadn't been so lucky and landed square on his arse.

"Shit, you all right?" Harry blinked down at Draco, who lifted up the right side of his bum and rubbed it with a pained expression on his face.

"I'm fine," he mumbled and switched to the other side, then looked up when Harry extended his hand.

"Here, let me help you." Harry pulled Draco up and was once again surprised, now that Draco was standing right in front of him, that Draco was easily taller than him. He also smelled good, Harry noticed and tried to breathe in normally despite the weird flutter in his stomach. He coughed slightly. "I was just coming from Honeydukes..."

Draco looked down at the bag in Harry's hands and raised an eyebrow – a movement that made Harry shrug sheepishly. They fell into step, Harry having already forgotten that he had planned on looking at some quills in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

"How was your Hogsmeade day so far?" Harry asked in a lame attempt at nervous conversation.

"All right," Draco said with a shrug. "I had planned on going to the Quidditch Shop, but the firsties have been blocking it, making it impossible to go in there without stepping on one of those midgets."

"You'll go later, then?"

"Probably."

"And Honeydukes?"

"Still have some sweets from last week."

Harry stopped at that and looked at Draco with big eyes. "You manage to last through more than a week with the sweets you buy on one weekend."

Draco shrugged. "It's a simple matter of economy, Potter. But what did you get, anyway?" He grabbed Harry's bag and opened it. "Mhmm, ice-cups! My favourite!" The chocolate vanished in Draco's mouth, leaving only the colourful foil in his hand.

"Hey! You could've asked!" Harry protested, frowning at the chocolate thief.

"Could have, but didn't," Draco said with a smirk and looked around. They had already passed Honeydukes and were now about to pass the Three Broomsticks, their path leading them nowhere in particular. "Tell you what: I'll buy you a Butterbeer to make up for it."

******

They had been talking for over an hour already, Harry noted with pleasant surprise. To be truthful he had no real idea what they had been talking about – Quidditch had been involved at some time and they had complained about Slughorn, Harry remembered, but anything else had just slipped out of his mind. It wasn't important anyway, because what mattered was that he had had the best time in weeks. Now that he and Draco were really talking, he could appreciate Draco's witty sense of humour and how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

"You should call me Harry," he said suddenly, before he could stop himself.

"Come again?"

"Well," Harry swallowed heavily, "we've been sitting here for so long and this is practically a date – you should call me Harry."

"I told you, Potter, I don't do dates." Draco looked at his watch. "I need to go now, anyway. See you." And with that he stood up, his second Butterbeer bottle still half full, and left.

******

"We saw you sitting in the Broomsticks with Malfoy today," Ron began the conversation that evening, receiving an immediate elbow-check from Hermione.

Harry looked up, feeling so not in the mood for accusations and the like. "Yes? So what?" At least Draco wasn't in the common room and he wouldn't have to have this argument or whatever they wanted to call it in front of him. He had the feeling that it would only make matters worse.

Sitting down (and dragging Ron with her onto the sofa), Hermione cleared her throat. "What Ron is trying to say is that we saw you and we were wonderingä" At that point she paused meaningfully for a moment, indicating that Ron wondered about everything she wondered about – whether he wanted to or not. "äif you are dating."

Harry sighed, closed the book that was lying on his lap, and rubbed the back of his head. "Well, not really."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron said, this time trying to sound less ... like himself.

"That's supposed to mean that we went to the Broomsticks, but that he isn't interested in me."

"Bollocks!" Ron again.

"I think he likes you, Harry," Hermione agreed and put her hand on Harry's arm.

Harry couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, well, he propositioned me. But he doesn't want a relationship."

"He what?!" Ron's face began to turn into that special red that apparently only Weasleys could acquire, but Harry chose to ignore both Ron and the colour and instead, as a response to the look in Hermione's eyes that demanded a proper explanation, launched into an explanation.

******

Harry looked up when he felt someone standing next to him the next evening and found himself staring right into the trademark eyes of Draco. There was something about Draco that made Harry blink in confusion. Could it really be...?

"I was wondering," Draco began, then stopped for a second and tugged at the hem of his shirt, "would you like to go to the Broomsticks with me again? Or maybe play a bit of Quidditch?"

Harry blinked again and tried not to move too quickly out of fear of bursting the dream-bubble he surely had to be sitting in. Excitement made a grin try to break out and happy laughter try to escape, but he had to keep himself in check. None of that nonsense now or Draco would most likely re-think the whole thing again and run away as fast as he could.

Play it cool. Harry told himself. "Sounds good." Then he allowed himself a small smile that got reflected on Draco's face.

"Tomorrow after dinner then? Harry?"

Harry nodded and Draco turned around, walking back to his armchair and his book, while Harry hid his beaming face behind his homework. He could barely believe it. He had a date! With Draco!

******

"So what made you ask me out after all?" Harry asked on their second date. They were just hovering on their brooms after having chased the Snitch for nearly two hours, relaxing and looking at the magnificent Scottish sunset. The first date in the Three Broomsticks had gone surprisingly well, with only a little bit of weirdness peppering the evening. They had chatted, mostly, just like they had during their last visit there, and this time it hadn't ended with Draco walking away.

"I figured out that I like you."

"You did?"

"Yes. And I mean in more than just the sexual way. Wouldn't have bothered to ask you out just for that."

Silently Harry let out a sigh of relief. Not that he had really thought that Draco was doing this just to get into his pants, but it still was nice to hear it from Draco himself. "And that thing..." he hesitated, but decided to plunge on, being a Gryffindor and all, "with Blaise?"

Draco shrugged. "Blaise is an arse. But I'm not going to let him fuck this up as well."

******

Draco didn't kiss Harry again until their third date ended. Harry explained this to himself (and to Hermione, who wanted details) by guessing that Draco might have sensed his wish for the traditional way of doing things. What Harry hadn't counted on, though, was his own feeling of insecurity that grew and grew and started doubting if Draco really liked him. That was, at least, until they kissed again and couldn't stop.

If not for their dorm-mates they might have even continued in their dorm (and who knew where that would have led to), but Ron had put up a strict rule about dating, kisses and behaviour in dorms. Besides, Harry didn't really have that much of an exhibitionist side.

They continued dating, met up every place they could think of, and Harry's spirits were up in the sky. Unfortunately that wasn't the only thing that was up, because his prick had decided that he liked Draco even better now that Harry and Draco were dating and it became really hard to control.

For this evening they had decided on the Room of Requirement, as their dates consisted of more snogging than talking these days and Harry really valued his privacy. Harry arrived first and entered a room that was even cosier than the eighth years' common room.

He didn't have to wait long for Draco, who once again looked edible. Harry got up from the armchair he had been sitting in and went over to greet him with a kiss. Kissing Draco was wonderful. There was just enough tongue to get you hot and bothered, pressure that told of strength, and passion that made your knees weak.

"Hey there," Draco said and grinned at Harry, stealing another kiss, "I thought we might try something new today."

Harry's breath hitched at that, giving away his nervousness. "Something new?"

Draco nodded and held up an empty bottle. "Well, maybe not exactly new ... but I thought it might be fun if we played Spin the Bottle. Just you and me." Draco voiced this carefully, trying not to portray the excitement he so obviously felt at the prospect.

Harry bit his lip. Should he really..? He could imagine perfectly what this game would lead to.

"We can stop whenever you like," Draco added, hope behind his words. Harry looked at him – really looked at him. He could trust Draco. And he liked him.

"Okay."

******

The bottle pointed to Draco and he stretched out towards Harry, kissing his neck then starting to nibble gently. Using one of his hands to stabilise his position, the other was running up and down Harry's side, making Harry shiver.

"The one to whom the bottle points has to open his shirt," Draco whispered against Harry's neck and turned the bottle. When it stopped, Harry raised his slightly trembling fingers to undo the buttons of his shirt, while Draco continued to kiss and stroke him. "Come on, it's your turn," Draco said when all the buttons were out of their holes and slowly let his hand glide under Harry's shirt.

Harry's hand went to the bottle, but hesitated before grabbing it. "I don't know what to say."

"What do you want, Harry?" Draco's mouth slowly wandered up his chin towards his mouth, the lips alternating between kissing Harry's skin and whispering against it. "Do you want me to undress? Do you want me to kiss your chest and suck on your nipples?"

Harry barely managed to stifle a moan and nodded. "Undress," he pressed out and turned the bottle. He barely had time to register that it pointed at him again before Draco had helped him out of the shirt.

"Lovely," he said and bent down to trail kisses down from Harry's neck over his chest on down to his stomach. The bottle pointed again and stopped in front of Draco, this time. Draco pulled off his shirt and resumed his position.

"You didn't even say anything," Harry murmured and tugged at Draco's shoulder to make him move up again. They kissed hungrily, their naked chests touching. Harry's heart beat so fast that he was sure that Draco must have noticed; he would have blushed even more, if that had been humanly possible.

"Wanted the same thing," Draco said against his mouth. "Your turn." Draco felt so good against him and if he moved – Draco did and Harry gasped – their dicks touched through their trousers.

"Don't want to play," Harry said breathlessly.

Draco drew back. "Oh. You want to stop?"

"No. We just don't need the bottle anymore." Being surprised by his own bravery, Harry kicked the bottle away, making room for him and Draco. Draco grinned at him, hunger now showing clearly on his face, and captured his lips in a kiss even more passionate than before.

******

Hands grabbing the cushion that he was pressing his face into, Harry felt Draco spread his cheeks. Warm breath touched him there first, feeling so unlike everything he had ever imagined. He expected a finger to follow, but instead there was even more of the warm breath, followed by the touch of something hot and slippery – Oh God! A tongue! - that made Harry scream into the cushion. Never had he imagined something as dirty and unbelievably good as this.

Slowly the tongue pushed into Harry's hole, which greedily parted, trying to get more of that delicious feeling. His hips wanted to move, to grind his crotch against the cushioned floor, trying to get some friction, but Draco held him firm, not allowing any movement. Harry turned his head, breath coming in short puffs, legs spreading wider. "Please!"

He could feel Draco's smirk against his arse – and that thought alone was nearly enough to make him come – and Draco only said, "Soon," before burying his tongue into Harry again.

Harry couldn't say how much longer Draco continued to rim him, he only knew that Draco's ministrations had made him unable to produce anything but gibberish, but eventually something else replaced the tongue. It felt different and went deeper, touching something in him that made Harry keen and push back, trying to get more.

"I have a finger up your arse, Harry," Draco whispered into his ear, before biting down on Harry's shoulder. There was a slight burn that Harry's pleasure-filled brain barely registered. "Two." Harry pushed back against the fingers again, lifted up slightly, leaving enough room between his chest and the floor for Draco to wriggle his other hand in and play with Harry's nipple.

"Three."

"Please!"

"Do you really want this?"

"Fuck, Draco, please!"

Draco pulled out his fingers and withdrew his hand from under Harry and for a moment Harry thought he had done something wrong, but then Draco was back, pressing something thick and slippery against Harry's hole. Harry's thighs spread even further. "God, you're so hot." Draco breathed. "Push back against me."

And then he pushed his cock inside of Harry. At first the burning nearly managed to override the pleasure and Harry clung even tighter to the cushion, his eyes pressed closed. But then Draco started moving – first slow, then faster with every push – hitting Harry's prostate and ripping gasps and moans from Harry's throat.

"So tight!" Draco grunted, fucking Harry harder, and, giving in to Harry's begging, allowing Harry enough room to rub against the floor.

Harry grabbed one of Draco's arms and pulled, his head turned and mouth waiting for the kiss that Draco, following his lead, gave him.

The tingling in Harry's groin intensified, moving down the inner sides of his thighs, then rushing to his feet and back up. "Draco -" he gasped and came, clenching hard around the cock in his arse and making Draco cry out and thrust even more fiercely. He followed only moments after Harry, letting himself fall on top of Harry when he had spent himself.

Harry smiled, despite various aches and feeling slightly stiff, into the cushion.

Draco rolled off him and pulled himself out, leaving Harry with the feeling of emptiness and loneliness for a couple of seconds, before lying down next to Harry and pulling Harry closer, draping him half over himself.

"Okay?" Draco asked, sounding surprisingly insecure.

"Brilliant." Harry grinned and kissed him. So this was how one lost his virginity the right way.

Fin.


End file.
